


His greatest failure

by TaamiB



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Green-Wood Cemetery, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Sad Ending, Steve thinks bucky is dead, Stucky - Freeform, no happy ending, quoted poems, sad fic, set between The First Avenger and The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7821670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaamiB/pseuds/TaamiB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time since he woke up in the new century, Steve visits the empty grave they made for Bucky, where he tries to deal with his pain and his regret.</p><p>There will be tears and no happy ending. </p><p> </p><p>As always, I do not own any of the characters or the original story that inspired me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His greatest failure

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a bad mood and felt like torturing myself a bit, so why not sharing it so I can torture y'all aswell?
> 
> As already mentioned, this is not going to be a happy fic, so if you don't want your good mood ruined, better not read it, I'm just saying :')
> 
> Either way, have "fun"

_„If I be the first of us to die,  
Let grief not blacken long your sky._

_Be bold yet modest in your grieving,  
There is a change but not a leaving._

_For just as death is part of life,  
The dead live on forever in the living._

_And all the gathered riches of our journey,_  
The moments shared, the mysteries explored,  
The steady layering of intimacy stored, 

_The things that made us laugh or weep or sing,  
The joy of sunlit snow or first unfurling of the spring,_

_The wordless language of look and touch,  
The knowing, each giving and each taking,_

_These are not flowers that fade,  
Nor trees that fall and crumble,_

_Nor are they stone,_  
For even stone cannot the wind and rain withstand  
And mighty mountain peaks in time reduce to sand. 

_What we were, we are. What we had, we have.  
A conjoined past imperishably present._

_So when you walk the woods where once we walked together  
And scan in vain the dappled bank beside you for my shadow,_

_Or pause where we always did upon the hill to gaze across the land,  
And spotting something, reach by habit for my hand._

_And finding none, feel sorrow start to steal upon you,  
Be still. Close your eyes. Breathe._

_Listen for my footfall in your heart.  
I am not gone but merely walk within you.“_

_(from „The Smoke Jumper“ by Nicholas Evans)_

 

\-----------------------------------

 

With a lump in his throat and an unsettling thightness in his chest, Steve got out of the car.

„Call me when you're done and I come pick you up, okay? I won't be far.“, Natasha called after him and Steve nodded, barely even listening to her anymore.

Turning around completely, he took slow steps towards the cemetery, his right hand holding on tightly to the bouquet of flowers in it, white roses, mixed with greens. He noticed that his hand was shaking and tried to stop it, without success.

It was a strange feeling to be at the Green-Wood Cemetery again, after all these years. Steve remembered how he stood in front of his parents grave, crying silently, thinking he couldn't ever get more lonely.

He was wrong.

Internally, he promised his parents that he will visit their grave the next time he gets there, but for today, he needed to go somewhere else. He needed to visit his best friend.

Of course, Steve knew that the grave was empty. They never found Bucky's body, Steve wasn't even sure if anyone put up a great effort to do so back then, considering the location in which his friend lost his life.

With each step, Steve felt as if the air around him got heavier and colder, pressing down on his shoulders, trying to make breathing more difficult for him, until he realized that he stopped breathing on his own. He hastily exhaled the air he held within his lungs, trying to calm himself, but couldn't. Steve felt as if he was walking towards his own grave, where all his joy, all his memories, yes, his whole life was buried. 

The cemetery was almost empty when Steve walked through it. It was barely 8 a.m., and since the place opened at 7.45, not many people were already present. Here and there he saw an older person laying down flowers or lighting up a candle, but he didn't pay much attention to them, to distraced by the feeling in his chest, the illusion that he'd freeze to death internally.

It wasn't difficult to find Bucky's grave. Whoever was in charge of seeking out a gravestone and the other decoration apparently took their job very seriously, and didn't bother about money or discretion;  
The gravestone was _huge_ , almost on eye level with Steve, made of white marble stone, in the shape of a half ogee. On both sides next to the stone, a bit closer to the path Steve was standing on, was a pillar. On the left one, a statue of a sleeping angel was placed, made from a stone a bit darker than the white marble. In front of the angel was a framed picture of Bucky, back from before he joined the army; he must've been about 17 or 18 years old, Steve thought. He was smiling his brightest smile, a few strands of hair falling into his face, and from his clothing, Steve assumed that it was summer when the picture was taken. 

Summers with Bucky have always been a lot of fun, Steve recalled. When they were kids, they spent them either in the city, eating the ice cream they were given by the nice iceman who always used to offer them one ball for each of them for free, since he knew that the boys didn't have any money, and he felt sorry for them during the heat that seemed to slow down the entire city. After that, they would play hide and seek, or strolled through the streets to find new, yet unkown spots.  
On the other days, they walked to a small stretch in the middle of the woods, were they had mostly been alone. Sometimes, there were other kids, and a few of them thought it was hilarious to make fun of Steve for his bony body, and his unhealthy, pale skin while they were tanned. Then, Bucky, who was taller than most of them, used to hunt them away, threatening them to shove his foot up their asses until they could taste his toes, and that usually did it for them, and they left.  
Steve's mom never allowed him to swim, too afraid that he might drown due to missing strength or trouble with his breathing, so whenever Bucky jumped into the lake, he stayed close to the shore, where Steve would let his feet hang into the water, and Bucky would spread the cold water over his legs and his stomach, sometimes even helping him step into the lake, holding him throughout the whole time, even when Steve was more than capable of standing on his own.

Steve was thankful for all this memories. He honestly didn't know how he would've survived his childhood without Bucky by his side.

As he stared at the picture of his best friend, is hit him again with full force that he'll never hear Bucky laugh again, that he'll never feel his palm on his shoulder again, that he'll never have another night with him in which they would just lay down on the grass, watching the stars, talking about their dreams, their funniest memories, their future. Bucky was gone, and he won't come back.

Steve felt tears shooting into his eyes, and tried to blink them away. He let his gaze wander on, to the other pillar. A big, violet bouquet was placed on this one. It looked fresh, as if someone had placed it only a few days ago, same as the smaller bouquets that were placed in front of the gravestone, on top of where an empty coffin was buried in the ground.  
For a short moment, it filled Steve's heart with joy, to see that there were people out there who seemed to care about his friend so much, they still placed flowers on his grave, even after all these years.

The joy didn't stay for long, though, and soon, Steve felt just as miserable as he did before. His eyes wander to the words that were ingraved into the big stone.

_"In loving memory of_

_James Buchanan Barnes_

_Beloved son, friend, and hero to our country._

_Always in our thoughts, forever in our hearts.“_

A tiny smile appeared on Steve's face, even though his eyes were wet again. Bucky would've liked that, beeing seen as a hero, even though he would've never asked for it. Bucky was modest, he did the things he did because he thought they were right, and because he cared, not to be rewarded for it. Still, Steve knew that it would've made him proud if he could see this. 

Kneeling down, Steve laid down his flowers, next to the others.  
It had something final to place them there, as if this whole situation wasn't real until then, and the guilt and the pain that accompanied him ever since Bucky fell, began to swell inside of him.  
Before he could stop it, a strangled sob escaped him, taking him by surprise because he didn't even notice how close to losing it he must've been the whole time, and the tears he was desperately trying to hold back began to flow down his face.

„I'm so sorry, Buck“, it broke out of him, voice distorted by his pain. „I'm so, so sorry. This is all my fault, I- I wasn't fast enough, I didn't reach further, I-“, he stopped to catch a breath, feeling as if his chest was about to implode. „-I just watched you fall. I didn't even go after you. I should've done that, god, Bucky, I should've gone after you. You deserved that, you deserved everything, and I didn't do it. God, if I would've only been faster.“ Steve sniffed, barely able to talk anymore, his face hot and wet from the tears that kept on coming. „This is all my fault. I failed it, I failed you. It should've been me and not you. I'm so sorry, Buck, I'm so sorry.“, and even though he wanted to say so much more, his voice broke off, and then he just sat there, on his knees, sobbing uncontrolled. 

He didn't care if anyone saw or heard him, if anyone experienced the great Captain America breaking down in the middle of a cemetery. He didn't bother to mute the sounds he was making, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that there was the wrong name written on the gravestone, that there was the wrong person 'buried'.  
It should've been his name. It should've been his body that was never found, even though he was so sure that that wouldn't have been the case; Bucky would've went after him. He would've put everything else aside, and searched for his friend. Steve was sure, and it only increased his agony.  
He felt as if it was only a matter of seconds until he will eventually explode into a million pieces because his body won't be able to contain all that pain and guilt anymore.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Bucky was too caring, too loyal, too good for such an end. He deserved so much better.  
He deserved to go home after the war, to find a wife and have beautiful children with her. He deserved to be honoured for what he did for their country. He deserved to grow old, healthy and in peace. 

He deserved Steve going after him when he fell. But Steve didn't. 

And now, Steve was paying for it, he knew that he deserved the pain he was in. And if it shattered him, it would be the only right thing, the only thing he should get for his failure.

When Steve finally managed to calm down enough to see anything through the tears, the sun was completely up, and he heard people in the near distance. He didn't bother to pay attention to them, they didn't matter, as he wiped the wetness from his face, and tried to retrieve control over his breathing.  
From his surroundings, he assumed that it must've been about an hour since he reached the grave, and he felt exhausted and spent.  
He didn't feel like getting up, returning to his new life, with his new friends, in his new home. If he could, he would've curled up in front of Bucky's grave, and never get up again, until he either starved or froze to death, because he felt like that was the only worthy thing he could do.  
But then, he knew that it would break Bucky's heart if he did.  
So, he slowly got up, not bothering to wipe the grass and the dirt from his jeans, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

„Can you pick me up?“, he sent to Natasha, because he didn't find it within himself to make a call right now. Then, he put the phone back to where it came from.

Even though he just calmed down, he felt himself tearing up again as he let his eyes wander over the engraving on the stone anew. 

„I'm sorry, Buck. You deserved better.“, he whispered as a single tear rolled down his heated cheek. 

After a few minutes, Steve slowly turned around, ready to meet Natasha who already waited inside her car, as he was able to see even from the distance.  
When he spoke again, looking over his shoulder to meet Bucky's eyes on the photograph, his voice was almost inaudible, and it took him all his strength to not break down again.

„Your death will always be my greatest failure.“

 

\--------------------------------------

 

_„Do not stand at my grave and weep._

_I am not there; I do not sleep._

_I am a thousand winds that blow._

_I am the diamond glints on snow._

_I am the sunlight on ripened grain._

_I am the gentle autumn rain._

_When you awaken in the morning's hush_

_I am the swift uplifting rush_

_Of quiet birds in circled flight._

_I am the soft star that shines at night._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry;_

_I am not there; I did not die.“_

_(„Do not stand at My Grave and Weep“ by Mary Elizabeth Frye)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and of course, comments and feedback are appreciated :)
> 
> I thought those poems fit pretty well with Stucky, what do you think?


End file.
